


The Wolfsbane Job

by cyclamental



Category: Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Don't copy to another site, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Incubus Bucky, M/M, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Werewolf Steve Rogers, do not copy to another site
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-06
Updated: 2019-12-06
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:53:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21612565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cyclamental/pseuds/cyclamental
Summary: Bucky is a Private Investigator for the Fae community. His latest case is a bit of a weird one, so he pulls in his best friend Steve to help.Featuring Incubus Bucky and Werewolf Steve (veryloosely inspired by the marathon of Lost Girl I watched a few months ago.)
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 8
Kudos: 169
Collections: Winter Gift Exchange 2019





	The Wolfsbane Job

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dixons_mama](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dixons_mama/gifts).



> Happy #WinterGiftX, Catie! I hope you enjoy. :)

There’s a weak knock at the door. Steve goes and checks the peep hole, then steps back, unlatching the chain and deadbolt before opening it halfway. Bucky leans against the doorframe, hunched over and curled in on himself, hair hanging down but still not covering the cuts and bruising on his face. Steve folds his arms over his chest and looks him up and down. “What happened this time?”

“Tangled with a banshee,” Bucky says, and coughs wetly. “Don’t worry, she’s toast.”

Steve blocks the doorway, a solid impediment. “Why are you here, Bucky?” His voice is low.

“You know why,” Bucky says, eyes cutting up through the fall of dark hair.

“I thought we weren’t doing this anymore,” Steve says, unmoved.

“I know,” Bucky says. “I know.” He sways toward Steve, touches his shoulder, fingers tracing down his arm.

He gets to Steve’s wrist and Steve yanks him forward, pulling him into the apartment. He slams the door and thrusts Bucky back against it, heedless of his injuries, and attacks his mouth like a starving man. Bucky moans, in pain or pleasure or both, and arches his back against the firm threshold, hitching a leg up over Steve’s hip. Steve grips his ass and hefts him up so that Bucky can wrap both legs around him, sucking wet kisses along his jaw and down his neck to scrape his teeth on that bird-like collarbone. “That’s it,” Steve says, voice rough, _just_ this side of in-control, “take what you need.”

* * *

Bucky wakes to soft sunlight filtering through the curtains, and Steve’s fingers brushing up and down his side, tracing the curve from hip to ribs and back. Steve’s up on an elbow next to him, sheets pooled around his waist, and he looks like some sort of golden god in the morning light. His expression is open and soft, but when he realizes that Bucky’s awake, his face shutters and becomes unreadable. “Morning,” Steve says, pulling his hand back and sitting up. “Feel better?”

Bucky sits up too, runs hands through the tangled mess of his hair. “Yeah, much better. Thanks, as always, Steve.” Steve chews on his bottom lip and turns away, getting up to grab some fresh clothes. Bucky tries hard not to look at his glorious ass, because, well, that’s not what this is about.

Bucky is an incubus, and he needs sexual energy to survive. One of the great benefits of being an incubus is that a nice romp helps him heal from injury extraordinarily rapidly; one detriment is that if he’s not careful, he can easily and unwittingly kill his lover if he takes too much energy too fast.

That’s where Steve comes in. Best friends since childhood, Steve is also a member of the supernatural community: a werewolf. He’s powerful enough to be able to change shape at will, and strong enough to provide Bucky with the energy he needs, safely. The first time had been an accident, a fumbling of overactive teenage hormones and incubus instinct, but over time they’ve fallen into a sort of...arrangement, where Steve will provide Bucky energy as a last-resort, given he can’t find anyone else to meet the need.

Bucky can tell that Steve doesn’t really want to be that for him - a warm body - but he doesn’t really know what to do about it.

“Yeah, you’re welcome, just don’t make a habit of it, Buck,” Steve says, pulling a shirt over his head.

“Sure, sorry,” Bucky says, and they both know it’ll happen again.

The thing is, Bucky likes feeding from Steve best. There’s a richness to his energy, perhaps from the werewolf part of him, perhaps something else, but it’s satisfying in a way feeding from no one else is. It warms Bucky to his core, makes him feel full and sated. He tries not to think about the emotional implications of this.

Bucky pulls on yesterday’s dirty and blood-stained clothes with distaste and walks to the en-suite to pull his hair back into a messy bun, grabbing a hair tie from the bowl under the sink Steve keeps just for him. He uses the extra toothbrush and washes his face, feeling much more presentable, and after examining his own features for a minute, marveling at the healing effects Steve’s energy provided, he ambles into the kitchen.

Steve is fiddling with the coffee machine, back to Bucky. He can’t hide the breadth of his shoulders, despite hunching over, and Bucky feels something twinge deep inside as he takes in the stretch of white t-shirt over that broad back. He puts it out of his mind and walks to the pantry, pulling out a loaf of bread. “Want egg-in-a-hole for breakfast?” he asks, assuming that Steve’s got his usual six dozen eggs in the fridge.

Steve looks at him from the corner of his eye. “Sure, sounds good,” he grunts, finally pressing the button to brew. He moves to the kitchen bar and sits on a stool, out of Bucky’s way. It’s not awkward, not really, Bucky steadfastly tells himself. Bucky keeps busy cracking eggs and warming the skillet.

“What’s your plan for today?” Steve asks after a few minutes of quiet.

Bucky drops a pat of butter in the pan, making it sizzle. “Go home, shower, change clothes... thought I’d go to the bar, see if Sam’s got any work for me, now that I wrapped up my latest case.”

Steve huffs quietly. “Really?”

Bucky pauses and turns, looking at him. “What?”

Steve screws up his face. “You literally showed up at my doorstep last night beat to shit, and you’re already looking for another case?”

Bucky turns back to the stove. “Steve, this is what I _do_ ,” he says. “I’m a freelance PI, if I don’t work, I don’t eat.”

Bucky can feel Steve’s disapproval radiating from behind him, even if he can’t see it. “You can take a break,” Steve says, “and you’re eating my food right now, anyway.”

“Yeah, well not everyone can be gainfully employed by the Light Fae council,” Bucky says, flipping a toast. “You can afford it.”

Steve comes around the counter and puts a hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “You should rest,” he says gently.

“I can get by on my own,” Bucky snaps, harsher than he intends.

“Maybe,” Steve says, lifting his hand. “But I’m saying you don’t have to.” He stands there, searching Bucky’s eyes. “I’m with you. You know that, right?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Bucky mutters. “‘Til the end of the line, I know.” He plates their food. “Eat up, ok? I know I took a lot out of you last night.” He grins lasciviously and the moment is broken, Steve rolling his eyes and taking his plate back to the bar to eat.

* * *

Bucky rolls up to The Underhill, Sam’s bar and hub for all creatures supernatural. He’s not sure exactly _what_ sort of creature Sam is - it’s fairly impolite to ask - but he does know that Sam has a definite commanding presence, and it’s best to stay on his good side. It’s early afternoon when he walks in and the bar is fairly empty, the lunch crowd having already dispersed and the evening crowd yet to arrive. Sam is about as stereotypical bartender as one could be, standing behind the counter and polishing a glass.

“Got anything good for me, Sam?” Bucky strolls up to the bar and leans forward on his elbows.

Sam just raises both of his eyebrows, eyeing Bucky up and down. “Look what the cat dragged in. Heard you had a bit of a rough night, but wouldn't have guessed by looking at you. What poor sap did you suck dry this time?”

Bucky’s fae form, and profession, are well known in supernatural circles. “None of your business, Sam,” he huffs. “The case is closed and I’m ready for the next. What’ve you got for me?”

Sam just looks at him. Bucky stares back, stone faced. Tension sizzles in the air. Finally, Sam turns away. “I might have something for you.” He bends down and pulls a file from beneath the bar, slaps it on the top in front of Bucky. He goes back to polishing the next glass in front of him.

Bucky pulls the file closer and flicks it open. It only takes seconds to skim, and then he drags his gaze back up the Sam. “What the fuck is this?” he asks.

“It is what you think it is,” Sam says, nonchalant, like he isn’t ridiculing Bucky. “Should be a straightforward case.”

“Sam, I catch _killers_ , not stray dogs,” Bucky says, incredulous.

“You wanted a case, this is what I’ve got. Now either order something, or kindly get the fuck out of my bar,” Sam replies.

Bucky rolls his eyes and shuts the file, yanking it off the bartop. He straightens up and starts to head for the door. “Let me know when a _real_ case comes in, ok?”

Sam just gives him the finger in response.

* * *

Wanda’s house is a good 30 minute drive out of the city, in an area so far into the suburbs that her nearest neighbor is a half mile away. She’s got a tidy cottage on about five acres, and most of the land is occupied by a sprawling garden.

“Here’s the latest crime scene,” Wanda says, pointing to the patch of ground that’s been unceremoniously dug up.

Bucky tries hard to keep his eye roll on the inside; it wouldn’t do to offend the client. He squats down near the overturned earth and looks around for clues. What clues, he couldn’t guess. “You said you think it’s a stray dog of some sort?”

Wanda nods, folding her arms over her chest. “Yes, I found some paw prints about a month ago in my moondrop patch, which had been decimated. Everything had been trampled or uprooted, it was a disaster!”

Bucky rolls in his lips, struggling to maintain a veneer of professionalism. “And...what was it that got destroyed this time?”

Wanda sighs deeply. “The monkshood. Some of it looks like it was eaten, nibbled down to the nub, and other plants were definitely dug up. I don’t know why a dog would eat monkshood, but I don’t know what other creature would be messing around digging holes in a garden, either.”

Bucky nods, examining the “scene” closely. He notices the remains of the mostly-eaten plants and the mounds of upturned earth, definitely indicative of some sort of medium to large-sized digging animal. He takes a few pictures with his phone and straightens up. “Ok, Wanda. I’ll see if there’s anything I can find out. Is this and the one time last month the only time you noticed the digging?”

“Yes,” Wanda says. “And I haven’t seen any creatures, especially dogs, around here, and you know I am out in the garden a lot.”

Bucky nods again and stands up, brushing some dirt off his hands. “I can’t promise anything, but I’ll let you know if I find the...culprit,” he says, wincing internally.

“Thank you, Bucky,” Wanda enthuses. “I will very much owe you if you can find out what did this and put a stop to it. My garden is my livelihood, and many of these herbs cannot be found anywhere else in the city. A great many members of the community depend on my potions.”

“...Right. Ok, well, I’ll be on my way now. I’ll be in touch.” Bucky says, and retreats back to his car.

* * *

Since he’s got nothing better to do, Bucky ends up at his favorite coffee shop near home, killing time before dinner with a book and an Ethiopian pour-over. He’s just getting to the good part, where the dragon is about to reveal himself and eat the asshole human trying to control him, when he senses a presence beside him. He looks up and there’s Wade, the weird barista. That’s honestly the only downside to this place.

“Wanna refill?” Wade says hopefully, holding up a coffee pot.

Bucky eyes him carefully. He’s rumpled, his apron on backwards, and Bucky’s fancy pour-over _definitely_ does not come with free refills. He must pause a moment too long because Wade slides down into the seat across from him.

“Boy, am I tired. I don’t know why but I’ve just been getting some shitty sleep lately. That ever happen to you?” Wade asks, apropo of nothing.

Bucky blinks at him across the table. Sometimes it’s best to just lean in. “Uh, yeah, sure, I guess.”

Wade opens his mouth to say something else when Bucky is rescued by Steve’s sudden arrival. “Hey buddy,” Steve says, leaning down to slap Bucky’s back in a half-hug. “Am I interrupting something?” he looks at Wade with a smile.

Wade’s gaze flicks between the two of them. “No, but it looks like _I’m_ interrupting something,” he says, before slowly rising to his feet and standing there awkwardly. He blinks at Steve. Steve looks back, then turns to Bucky in confusion.

“It’s fine,” Bucky says, feeling for some reason like he has to fill this uncomfortable void. “There’s nothing between me and Steve, we’re just friends.” He wills himself to stop talking; there’s really no reason to volunteer this information.

Steve’s expression flattens, and he turns back to Wade. “Yeah, _best_ friends,” he adds a bit menacingly. He almost appears to bristle in Wade’s direction.

“I get it, I get it, I’ll just be going,” Wade says, holding up his hands, one still occupied by the coffee pot. “Anything I can get started for you, man?” he asks Steve.

Steve narrows his eyes, evaluating. “Yeah, I’d love a vanilla latte. Thanks,” he says, obviously dismissing the other man. Wade scuttles away, and Steve takes his vacated seat.

“Harsh, man,” Bucky says. “He was just trying to be friendly.”

“He was hitting on you,” Steve replies, petulant.

“What? No,” Bucky says, turning to peer at Wade’s retreating back. “Really?”

Steve rolls his eyes. “I swear, I don’t know if it’s the incubus in you or your fucking thick skull. _Everyone_ wants a piece of you, Buck!”

Bucky can’t _not_ preen a little. “Well,” he just says, smug.

“Eugh,” Steve says. “You’re insufferable.”

“But you love me anyway.” Bucky grins, taking a sip of his coffee.

Steve’s mouth turns up in a wry grin. “Yeah, for some reason, I do.”

* * *

Bucky wakes the next morning to a dry mouth and Wanda’s frantic voice on the phone.

“It’s happened again!” she exclaims.

“What happened, who is this,” Bucky mumbles into his cell, groggy as hell.

“It’s Wanda! The defiler of gardens has returned! This time, it _pooped in my galangal patch_ ,” she shrieks.

“Your what now?” Bucky asks, rubbing his eyes.

“Galangal,” Wanda says. “It’s a fire herb that helps with male potency, amongst other things.”

“Right…” Bucky says, struggling to wakefulness. “Is the, uh, poop the only thing that happened last night?”

“ _The only thing?_ ” Wanda says. “Isn’t that enough?”

“How do you know it was the same creature?” Bucky asks.

“I just _know_ , Bucky! There’s an energy about all of this I can feel,” Wanda says. “It’s part of being a witch, you wouldn’t understand.”

“Ok, ok, I’ll be out later this morning to take a look,” Bucky says, rubbing his eyes.

“Thank you,” Wanda says, and hangs up.

“Geez,” Bucky says, staring at his phone. After a moment, he goes into his favorites and dials the first name.

“Hey Buck, what’s up?” Steve asks, picking up on the first ring and sounding way too chipper for this early in the morning.

“Long story short,” Bucky says, “I’ve got a dumb case, it’s weird, and I thought maybe you could help me out. Heading out to Wanda’s here shortly to check out the uh, crime scene.”

“Wanda Maximoff? I’ll definitely help, she’s my apothecary, she’s fantastic,” Steve replies.

“You don’t think she’s a little…” Bucky trails off.

“What?”

“Crazy?” Bucky finishes.

There’s silence on the line for a moment. “Bucky,” Steve finally says. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Nevermind,” Bucky backpedals. “When can you get here? I’ll drive.”

“Gimme an hour,” Steve says. “I’ll bring bagels!”

Bucky winces at the unreasonable amount of cheer in Steve’s tone. “Great, see you soon.”

* * *

“So what are we looking for?” Steve asks as they park, unfolding his gigantic-ass body from the passenger seat and standing, stretching just outside the car door.

“Uh, there’s...evidence...that a dog has been fucking around in Wanda’s garden. It was here last night and the night before, and she thinks the same dog was here a month ago. I thought you could, you know, sniff around a little,” Bucky says, closing his door and coming around to Steve’s side.

“Bucky,” Steve says with a scowl, “You realize that I am _not a dog_ , right?”

Bucky is thankfully rescued by Wanda, who chooses that moment to appear from her cottage. “Steve!” she says, arms held out wide for a hug. Steve brightens when he sees her and greets her warmly. “What a pleasant surprise! How can I help you today?”

“I’m just here helping out Bucky on his case,” Steve says. He turns back to where Bucky stands a short ways away.

“Steve,” Wanda teases, “I didn’t know you had a _boyfriend_.” She looks between Steve and Bucky with a grin.

“He’s _not_ my boyfriend,” Bucky hisses. “Why does everyone assume that?”

The scowl returns to Steve’s face and he folds his arms over his chest. “It’s all _you_ , Buck, you let off a _vibe_ , if you know what I mean?”

Bucky frowns and watches as Wanda looks suspiciously between the two of them. “You’re serious?” she asks. “You’re not just teasing me?”

“Can you _please_ just show us the...crime scene, Wanda?” Bucky asks, desperate to change the subject.

She nods slowly, concern etched on her face, but turns and leads them around the side of the house to the back garden.

There seems to be very little order to things that Bucky can tell, but Wanda winds her way through the various plots and patches with confidence. There’s a certain wild beauty about it, just barely tamed, and before he knows it they’ve stopped at a small patch of plants with bright green shoots and pretty white flowers.

There is, indeed, a pile of dog shit in the middle of them.

“Yeesh,” Bucky says, recoiling. He turns to Steve, but Steve is staring down at the mound of poop, pupils narrowed to pinpricks and hairs on his arms raised. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s a werewolf,” Steve says, “I can smell it everywhere.”

“Dude, gross. Also,” Bucky grins to himself, “told you so.”

Steve curls his lip in disgust. “We’re camping out here tonight. We’ll find out who did this.”

“That makes so much sense!” Wanda says. “They were into the wolfsbane. And the moon is full, too.”

“Wolfsbane? You told me moondrops and...something else, definitely not wolfsbane,” Bucky interjects.

“Monkshood,” Wanda replies. “It’s another name for wolfsbane.” She nods sagely.

“Of course it is,” Bucky sighs. “Why would a werewolf eat wolfsbane? Doesn’t it hurt you guys?”

“Wolfsbane can actually ease some of the pain of transformation,” Steve says. “It’s not a well-publicized fact, but a newly-turned werewolf may be drawn to it instinctively.”

“Ok, whatever,” Bucky says. “We lie in wait for it tonight and what, trap it?”

“I’ll handle it,” Steve says, somewhat ominously.

“Steve,” Bucky says, “I can’t condone murder. Are you planning murder?”

“What? No!” Steve exclaims. “Geez, Bucky, the wolf will notice me and we’ll be able to stop them from destroying any more of Wanda’s garden. Murder, what do you take me for?”

Bucky shrugs. “Just checking! You never know.”

Steve just gives him a Look. “And stop referring to them as ‘it.’ They’re not an _animal_.”

Bucky looks at Steve, a golden retriever personified. “Riiight.”

* * *

It’s half past midnight and they’re downwind of the shit pile, belly-down in the dirt at Steve’s insistence. It’s been dark for hours and the moon hangs pale and full high in the sky, bathing everything in silver. Bucky’s been yawning pretty hard for the past hour, and he’s bored beyond belief. “Steve,” he whispers. “I’ve _got_ to get a cup of coffee. I’m just gonna pop into Wanda’s house real quick and brew up some instant. You want anything?” He makes to get up.

Steve just stares at him, incredulous. “How the fuck do you solve _murders_? You seriously suck at this.”

“Hey, I am a _good_ PI,” Bucky counters. He starts walking toward the house.

“Must be why you’re in such high demand,” Steve mutters, turning back to his vigil over the garden. They don’t know where the wolf will show up tonight, but they figure last night’s “crime scene” is as good a starting place as any.

The back door is in sight and Bucky is stifling another yawn when he hears the growl. He turns abruptly and sees a pair of yellow eyes staring at him from the darkness. Slowly, a huge grey wolf saunters out from a tangle of thorny bushes. It’s upper lip is pulled back and saliva drips to the ground, and Bucky freezes like a rabbit in headlights as the growl grows louder and suddenly the wolf breaks into a run straight toward him. Bucky immediately turns and runs back in Steve’s direction.

A flash of white, a high-pitched yip, and a heavy thud sounds behind him. Bucky looks over his shoulder and sees an enormous white wolf pinning the grey one to the ground, jaws clamped around the back of its neck. The grey wolf whines and rolls to its side, kicking its feet and showing its belly submissively. The white wolf lets go, and suddenly the grey wolf shudders violently, and before Bucky’s eyes the wolf transforms back into a man.

“Wade?” Bucky exclaims. “What the fuck?!”

“Where am I?” Wade asks groggily. “What happened?” He looks down. “And why am I naked?”

“Oh my god,” Bucky mutters, putting his face in his hands.

“Congratulations, you’re a werewolf,” Steve says, placing a hand on Wade’s shoulder. He’s equally naked, and Bucky tries not to look. Even though he’s seen Steve naked plenty of times before. It’s totally not weird right now.

Really.

* * *

“Thank you both so much,” Wanda says the next morning. Steve had gotten Wade clothed in some ill-fitting extras from Bucky’s trunk and settled him the back seat of the car with the intent to take him to the Light Fae council for registration and debriefing. Adjusting to sudden-onset-supernaturalism was difficult for everyone, but the council had helped folks through it enough times that the process was pretty well defined by now. Wade would have guidance and support as he adjusted to his new life.

“I’d like to give you this potion I brewed, just for you, in addition to your fee,” Wanda says, handing him a small sachet. “Place it in boiling water for five minutes and then drink.”

“What does it do?” Bucky asks suspiciously.

“It will bring you calm and clarity of thought,” she says. “Trust me, nothing bad will happen because of it. Only good things.” She smiles softly.

“If you say so,” Bucky says doubtfully, but he accepts it all the same. “Let me know if you have any more problems, I guess.”

Bucky prides himself on his conviction and excellent customer service.

On the short drive back he glances over at Steve. While he’d known Steve what felt like his whole life, last night had been the first time Bucky had ever seen Steve’s wolf form. The glimpse was brief, but in that moment Bucky was struck by how beautiful Steve was. It was deadly beauty, to be sure, but enraptured Bucky all the same. He doesn’t know why he never noticed it before.

Maybe it was because Steve had saved him from certain-mauling from a terrifying wolf.

After dropping Steve and Wade off at the council headquarters, Bucky returns home. He feels drained from the lack of sleep and excitement of the night and slowly peels off his dirty clothes and climbs into the shower. It’s simple to fall into bed after that.

* * *

Steve comes by that night as he often does. He lets Bucky know that Wade is adjusting as well as could be expected, and that unfortunately the fresh lycanthropy did not explain away his weirdness. Bucky still feels tired but also wired and is looking for some chamomile tea to help him wind down when he remembers the potion Wanda gave him. “Hey, Wanda wouldn’t give me anything weird, would she?” he asks.

Steve looks up from the book he’s reading on the couch. “Wanda? No, she’s great. Has been helping me with werewolf-specific maladies for years. I trust her implicitly.” He goes back to his book.

Bucky rummages around for a mug and brews the potion. It smells wonderful, lavender and sage and clear cool nights. He takes a sip and closes his eyes. His mouth falls open. “Oh, shit,” he says.

“What?” Steve says, looking back up.

Bucky just stares at him. “I love you.”

“Dude, I know that,” Steve laughs, going back to his read.

“No, you don’t understand,” Bucky says, and moves to settle on the couch next to Steve, mug held fast in his hands. “I just realized. I’m...in love with you.” He’s gobsmacked. Why didn’t he realize it before?

Steve looks seriously at him. “Are you sure? What the fuck was in that tea?”

Bucky takes another drink and the conviction just grows stronger. “Wanda said it would bring me clarity. I...I think I got a glimpse last night, and now I really see it. I’ve always been drawn to you, we’ve always been connected to each other, and I didn’t realize it before but I see it now. I love you, Steve,” he says, and a smile blooms across his face. “I love you!”

Steve looks back at Bucky and an answering smile curves his lips. “You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting to hear you say that,” Steve says. He takes the mug from Bucky’s hands and places it carefully on the coffee table. He takes Bucky’s empty hands and pulls him close. “I know you love me, you dope, I’ve just been waiting for you to realize it.” He leans in and kisses Bucky, so sweetly.

Bucky melts into the kiss, all warm hearted affection and no lust-blind heat, and his heart thumps hard in his chest. Steve pulls back and cradles Bucky’s face in one hand. “I love you too, Bucky.”


End file.
